DEAD Series [Books 1-12]

by Brown, TW

  I said that the road was almost wide open. That is because halfway between us and our friends were the shambling mass of undead that remained on Teresa’s tail when we split up.

  The two helos swung apart from each other and, with noses down, bracketed the seemingly oblivious pack of zombies. A loud, roaring buzz erupted as the helos’ machine guns opened up on them. In seconds, nothing was standing.

  I considered stopping, but two things eliminated that option: my friends were over there, and really, where would I go? It’s not like I could outrun those attack helicopters. The best plan would be to simply drive up to where all those military vehicles sat parked around Teresa and the others and see what hand is dealt. If the military was going to kill us, then there was no reason for them to mow down that mob of zombies.

  Right?

  A few minutes later we pulled up. Barry, Ian, and I had our hands on our weapons, but not one single soldier so much as raised a gun in our direction. Instead, they waved us into their perimeter.

  A quick scan of the situation revealed that nobody seemed agitated or scared. Thalia was even accepting a piece of gum from one of the soldiers. Maybe, just maybe, things were getting better. At the least, perhaps we would be taken someplace safe. My mind tried to set aside all of what I could only assume to be Hollywood-generated fears. Still, all fiction has some basis in fact.

  Right?

  ***

  The leader of the group, Sergeant Paul Wimmer, informed us that we were spotted by an air patrol out of Idaho. The army had a “Safe Zone” nearby. He made sure to stress that we were under no obligation to follow, but that we were welcome if we chose. He gave us a few minutes to decide for ourselves.

  The vote had been unanimous.

  An hour and a half later we were sitting at a checkpoint. I could see what was obviously once a very small town? ...village?...hamlet? Hell, this place is tiny.

  The Army has been very busy. Large earthmovers are visible inside the perimeter. They were obviously used to dig the deep trench that encircles the encampment. A heavy-duty fence that is at least fifteen-feet high is the second line of defense. It is electrified! I don’t know how, because I don’t hear the roar of a generator. It is apparent that this place has power up and running. Of course, there are the typical machine gun towers and foot patrols, but the zombie presence is minimal. A half-mile back we passed a pit or trench—whatever—where a group of soldiers in HAZMAT suits were burning bodies. They seemed to have everything under control.

  There are at least a few hundred people here. Less than half are military. I was asked my name, as were all of us. That had Ian a little nervous. I am certain that he, Dillon, and perhaps even Anton, might have escaped from a jail or prison. Well, none of that matters to me. Those guys have been a part of our group, and I’d say that all debts to society are square. Besides, the soldiers didn’t ask for anything other than our names. I doubt that, even if my guess is correct, that’s enough to identify him.

  “Are we really safe?”

  I jumped. Teresa had come up beside me as we waited for everybody to give their name. Of course, I really had no idea what to do next. All the soldiers who’d been with the patrol that escorted us here had been escorted to one of those long camouflage tents—all except Sergeant Wimmer. He was in deep discussion with three soldiers and a lady in civilian clothes.

  The last of our party, Barry, had given his name. Now we were all just standing in a huddled group. I was about to suggest that we take a look around when Sergeant Wimmer came trotting over. He removed his helmet, revealing very dark hair kept in a crew cut. Strands of gray stood out in stark contrast. “Sorry about abandoning you folks for a few minutes there. We are still trying to keep a certain degree of military order about things.” He casually waded into the midst of our little pack. “I had to dot a couple of I’s and cross a few T’s.”

  “And what is it that we are supposed to do now?” I asked.

  “Well,” Sergeant Wimmer faced me directly, “Steve, is it?” I nodded. “First, we need our medics to check everybody out. I know that you all said nobody has been bitten, but I hope you’ll understand that we can’t simply take people at their word when it is a matter of life and death.” Most of us nodded or voiced our consent and understanding. “Then, I imagine that you all could use a real meal.”

  That lit everyone’s eyes up. Still, it was just the way things had been that, at least for me, allowed a kernel of apprehension to sprout deep roots in my mind. I glanced around, but it seemed I was alone in my fears. Even if they are slight, I just can’t ignore them. I still feel a sense of obligation and responsibility to these people…especially Thalia and Teresa.

  I dropped to the back of our group as Sergeant Wimmer led us through the camp. I could see construction taking place on what looked like an apartment building. Nothing fancy, just a two-story affair. I also noticed a couple of buildings with “Do Not Enter” signs and guards posted at the entrance. That added some fertilizer to my little kernel of doubt.

  I could hear the sergeant talking, but my eyes were everywhere. If he was so bent on holding our attention, I imagined it was to keep us from being too observant. I watched some of the regular non-military types walking about. They seemed fine …normal. A few even waved or smiled as we passed.

  We rounded a building and came to another of those camo-tents. A flag with the Red Cross on it fluttered from a small pole. Right beside the tent was a playground. Thalia squealed with delight and looked back at me from where she stood holding Teresa’s hand while clutching the giant bear Ian had procured in the other arm.

  “Would you like to play with those other children?” Sergeant Wimmer knelt in front of the little girl who was excitedly hopping from one foot to the other.

  Thalia nodded vigorously. Children are absolutely amazing. All of the death and horror we’ve experienced seemed washed away in an instant. Again I glanced at everybody else’s faces. All I saw was exhaustion and just a hint of—could it be?—relief.

  “Well then,” he glanced up at Teresa, “we’ll get you and your friend here checked out first so you can go play.”

  In the distance I heard a short burst of gunfire. We all jumped. Evan Thalia froze for a second.

  “Relax, folks.” Sergeant Wimmer stood up, raising his arms like a teacher settling a classroom of second-graders. “Just somebody taking down a walker. I assure you that we are all perfectly safe inside these fences.”

  Again I looked around. Nobody else even seemed to have broken stride. The children at the nearby playground were still laughing, swinging, and chasing each other around the giant play structure. These people actually feel safe!

  Maybe…just maybe.

  ***

  I sat on the paper-covered examination table in my underwear. The curtain that had me isolated from everybody else rustled as an older lady in her sixties wearing scrubs came in. Her face was stern as she read from a clipboard. All in all, this was sort of comforting. It was just like I remembered every doctor’s exam.

  “You seem just fine, Mister Hobart,” Doctor Zahn said. The name was on a tag pinned in perfect symmetry above the breast pocket of her scrubs. “Of course a final confirmation of your blood test will be completed within the hour.”

  “Or my pizza is free?” I made a failed attempt at levity that earned nothing more than a single raised eyebrow.

  “Clean clothing is being brought in for you. You may dress, and then you are free to go.” Doctor Zahn about-faced, walking away, and then paused at the curtain. She turned, and her eyes met mine, “You did exceptionally well with your group of fellow survivors. Most people get to us on the verge of starvation. Over half are infected. That little girl is…” She didn’t finish whatever she was about to say. Instead, she simply nodded and exited.

  An orderly came in moments later. He had a neatly folded stack of clothing. But it was what was on top that made me just a little excited…soap, a wash cloth, and a towel! I was led to a plastic-curt
ained cubicle where I would actually take a real shower! I heard a couple of others already running. The water was hot!

  “Five minutes, sir.” The orderly pointed to a timer that he was setting as I stepped in and felt the near-ecstasy of hot water cascading down my skin.

  I glanced down at my feet and watched with mortified fascination as a brownish-red slurry swirled down the drain. I scrubbed and scrubbed, suddenly fearing that I would never come clean. Eventually, it was just clear water at my feet. I waited for the ding of the timer before I would relinquish this luxury.

  I re-emerged into the brightening, clear-blue sky of late afternoon. The heat felt good on my freshly scrubbed skin. My eyes scanned quickly, searching for a familiar face either from my group or the soldiers who…rescued?...found us.

  It took me a handful of seconds to recognize Teresa and Thalia. Thalia was in a pair of pink denim shorts and a halter top while Teresa was in a light blue, floral print sundress. Of course, the little girl was oblivious to my arrival as she climbed on a huge wooden playstructure engaged in some sort of chase with the other children. Teresa was standing on the edge of the cedar-chip ground that marked the playground’s boundary.

  She jumped when I placed a hand on her shoulder and I immediately felt foolish. First, I was already letting my guard down while this sixteen-year-old girl was on high-alert, scanning the area and most likely already memorizing possible escape routes and defensible positions. Second, grasping, touching, or even nudging somebody without warning could get you a bullet in the head on the other side of these fences that seemed to promise security.

  “Sorry.” I raised my hands and stepped back.

  “Old habits.” Teresa blushed.

  We watched Thalia, neither of us speaking. The whole idea of being safe felt too surreal after what we have seen in the past several weeks. Within about an hour Jamie, Joseph, Billy, and Aaron joined us. I think I was the only one to notice Jamie and Teresa’s close proximity to one another. Could it be this simple? I mean, can things be righted and put back on track by something as simple as children playing tag at a playground and teenagers falling in love?

  One by one, our band of survivors gathered at the edge of the playground. Once we all passed examinations and enjoyed a shower, we naturally congregated together. Whether it was attachment, or simply the comfort of familiarity, not one person failed to seek out the group.

  Eventually, Sergeant Wimmer arrived with Doctor Zahn and two other doctors that I imagine inspected the rest of the group. With them was a man wearing slacks and a light blue button-up shirt with his sleeves rolled to the elbows. The top button was undone and the tie tugged loose. My radar went off instantly. This guy seemed to be trying way too hard to look unassuming.

  “Look at his hands,” Barry leaned close and whispered. It seemed I was not the only person on edge.

  I glanced at the man’s hands and, for a moment, didn’t see anything extraordinary. Then it sunk in. They were immaculate. Nails trimmed, and I’d bet recently manicured. Stepping forward I extended my right hand and shook his in greeting. Those hands hadn’t seen a hard day’s work in this guy’s life.

  Politician?

  “Randall Smith, CDC from Atlanta,” his drawl was slow and casual, but his eyes reminded me of every oily politician or sleezy televangelist that had ever been caught in a scam and tried to fabricate an excuse or justification.

  “Steven Hobart, insurance adjuster from Seattle,” I said. Then, one by one, I introduced my fellow survivors…minus occupation or city of origin.

  “Seems you folks have had quite a time,” Randall said. “But let me officially extend a welcome to our little bastion. You are all welcome to stay. Of course, we will be happy to have each and every one of you remain, and would meet with each individually to assess what skills you may possess so that you can contribute to our society of survivors. However, none of you are required to stay if you do not wish. Nobody is a captive.

  “I know you have questions, but we would like to get you settled in to where you’ll be living if you decide to remain. Tomorrow I will meet with everybody individually and answer any of your questions then.

  “I would do so today, but I am already late for a meeting with our electrical engineers. So, please, even if you are not planning to stay, be our guests tonight and enjoy a nice hot meal and a good night’s sleep.”

  With that, he nodded to us, then patted Sergeant Wimmer on the shoulder and left. I glanced over at Barry and Ian and saw the same dubiousness that I felt tugging at my mind.

  At least I would have help watching out for trouble.

  I called Thalia over, and, after promising she could return as soon as we’d eaten, I gave a nod. We all fell into line as Sergeant Wimmer led us to what would be our sleeping quarters. From the rear of the group it was easy for me to spot Teresa’s hand entwined in Jamie’s.

  11

  Vignettes IV

  He had been one of the most infamous rock stars of this generation. Thousands of women found themselves the object of his temporary affections. Thousands more claimed so. He started in the clubs and finished in stadiums.

  With exceptional business smarts, he built an empire that transcended his status as just-another-rock star. His former band-mates were not lacking for money, but he had reached an entirely different level of fame and fortune that continued to feed his bank account as well as his ego long after his last hit record slid from the charts.

  Though many who did not know him assumed he was little more than an extreme egomaniac, his depth of character and ability to love was an exception to most others in his line of work. So, it was no surprise to those who really knew him—his family and small circle of real friends—that, when one of his former band mates with whom he was rumored to have an intense feud with became ill, he dropped everything to be bedside at the hospital.

  That is how he got bitten.

  That is how his family died.

  That is how he became just another member of the walking dead.

  Now he stumbled along Hollywood Boulevard with a pack of others just like him. Ironically, a young boy of about twelve was within an arm’s distance to his left with the tattered remnants of a tee-shirt that had his face on it. As a mob, they continued to gain numbers that were likewise drawn to the vibrations that, while dull sounding, rang in their ears. None of them were cognizant enough in any manner to identify the staccato sound of automatic weapon’s fire. They simply knew that where there was sound, there was food.

  The desire to feed was the only impulse their brain transmitted constantly and clearly. There were images, impulses really, that drove them to re-enact rituals that were the equivalent of mental fossils in their memories. That is why he walked for days until finally reaching the swarming streets of Hollywood.

  While others, some more…some less famous, had tried to avoid the crowds of fans and camera-wielding paparazzi, he’d relished it. Whenever he was feeling down, he would pop up in public and bathe in the heat of the strobe flashes. People would yell his name and once again, he mattered.

  The rumble grew to a steady buzz under the irregular beat of gunfire. Movement caused him to turn his head to the left. The jagged rip on his left forearm seeped a hint of dark fluid as his arms reached out.

  The bus, with armor plates welded all along the sides and topped with two machine gun turrets, inched through the growing throng of zombies. The snowplow blade mounted in front was shoving a wad of broken bodies before it that would occasionally crest and break like a wave of wriggling death.

  A bullet struck him in the face. His body toppled, eventually scooped up with so many others by the plow. Rolling, tumbling, end over end, until finally sliding off to the side.

  “Hey! Is that who I think it is?” a man who looked like he’d seen Easy Rider a few too many times called above the roar of the bus engine to the younger man at his side.

  “Who cares?” the younger man said and shrugged.

  ***

&nbs
p; The Old Man stared up at the sun that he could not see through his cataract-covered eyes. Nothing but the baked, sparsely vegetated Australian landscape surrounded him on all sides. The heat bathed his wrinkled, naked body as the light breeze caused his snow-white hair to flutter ever so slightly.

  He felt a tingle and knew he was in the right spot. Slowly, against the flaring pain of protest in both knees, The Old Man knelt on the ground and began to jab the hard clay with his pointed stick.

  Within an hour he had snacked on a few fat grubs and eventually reached his goal. At the bottom of the almost foot-deep gouge in the earth, water pooled. Occasionally he would scoop out a few swallows with a little tin cup that he carried.

  A dull pain formed behind his eyes and The Old Man surrendered as a new vision began to coalesce in his mind’s eye. Again, he could see the Earth from the Heavens. Things had changed. Beacons of gold that once indicated to him large clusters of mankind were all gone.

  Now, the same blackness from the sun and moon covered Earth’s surface. Yet, tiny pinpricks of gold remained. That did not concern The Old Man. His visions always showed him more important things. He had seen dark, sickly gray swathes and blotches grow under those clusters of gold. The waters had turned color as well. Now, those gray lesions and bruises on Earth were fading. The healthy tinges of green were returning to the lands and blue was seeping into the waters.

  Man was dying. Earth was healing.

  The Old Man tilted his head to the sky and laughed long and loud.

  ***

  The once mighty warship slowly ground to an unceremonious halt. Washed into shallow waters, the USS Arliegh Burke tilted sharply to port. The awkward angle allowed the waves to crash repeatedly into her exposed starboard side. Over a period of several days, the gray behemoth shifted until she was almost parallel to the non-descript shoreline.